Disclaimer: I don't own and didn't create Ranma ½ or any of these characters.
Chapter Three: Whoever Fights Monsters
Furious, Ranma sprinted as fast as he could in the direction Tarou had run off. He was going to pound the jerk into the ground when he found him. If Ryouga hadn't already done it for him, that is.
He heard an explosion from somewhere up ahead in the trees. Tarou would have just sailed in with his fists as usual, and in that monster form, Ryouga would kill him. There were more explosions, bigger than before, followed by the dull thump of falling boulders.
He sped on, squinting his eyes against the rain, wishing his little piglet legs could cover more ground. A flash of reddish light briefly shone through the trees. That was a Shishi Hokodan; a strong one, much bigger than the ones Ryouga had hit Ranma with during his initial practice sessions, which meant that the fanged boy was, by now, well and truly pissed off.
A bellow echoed through the trees, ear-splitting in its intensity. He was very close now. Ranma burst through the last of the trees, just in time to see Ryouga taking to the air.
"Bweeeee!!!" he squealed as loudly as he could, hoping that Ryouga would hear him, but he was already too far away to hear.
He looked around at the large clearing where the fight had been held: it had been obliterated. Pieces of rock ranging from tiny razor sharp shards to chunks larger than a car lay scattered over the shattered ground. Partially hidden behind a huge boulder was the motionless form of Pantyhose Tarou.
Ranma trotted to his side and squealed, nudging the other boy's cheek with his snout. No response. He squealed louder, tapping with his hoof. There was still no response. Had Ryouga killed him? Was he dying? Ranma clambered up with his front hooves onto Tarou's face, and squealed as loud as he could. He leaned in closer, and felt the faintest whisper of a breath upon his face. He was alive. He poked his snout under Tarou's jaw; the pulse was weak but regular.
Satisfied for now, Ranma stepped back and studied the Chinese boy for injuries. Chinese girl, he corrected himself: Tarou had lost his cloak at some stage during the fight. His left shoulder looked dislocated and the multitude of cuts, scrapes and bruises suggested he'd taken a pounding from the rocks, but otherwise he seemed to be in pretty good shape for someone that had just gone toe to toe with a giant minotaur and some flying boulders.
Ranma sat down in the mud, shivering. His fur had been long soaked through by the rain and his tiny body was losing heat quickly; he needed to find some hot water before nightfall. The thick rainclouds made it hard to be certain, but he guessed that he had only another hour before then.
He found the backpacks against a tree at the clearing's edge. They were huge, far bigger than he was, and the trees loomed overhead like scraggly clawed giants. He swallowed, and tried to ignore the faint whisperings of fear that were nipping at the edges of his mind. Oh gods, a twig just snapped! What was that? Nothing, the human part of his mind berated itself, it was just a twig. He wasn't afraid of a stupid twig, was he? No. He needed to think, focus, concentrate on the task ahead. Concentrate on getting back to normal.
Using his nose, teeth and hooves, Ranma started to work open the fastenings on his backpack. Eventually the pack lay open, and he wiggled his way inside to locate the portable gas stove and kettle from within. It felt wonderfully warm and safe in there, nestled amongst the clothes, but he did his best to ignore the feeling. It was still raining hard after he had emerged from the pack, having dragged the kettle and stove free. He might not be able to change back into a guy while it was raining, but at least he could use it to fill the kettle - which would save him having to wrestle with the screw topped water bottles. Ranma dragged the kettle underneath a thin stream of water trickling down the tree from a low hanging, downward pointing branch.
He peered up through the branches, trying to guess the time. The sky had darkened; there was perhaps only about half an hour left before sunset. On the other hand, the rain appeared to be letting up. Good, that meant he could change back. Provided it didn't stop too soon and leave him with too little water to change back with, that is.
He heard a strangled cry from the trees behind him and froze. What was that? Some kind of animal? He heard the cry again, from closer. A fox, and it was approaching. A predator. His heart began to pound in his chest. He scurried back into the backpack, cursing himself for allowing a threat to sneak up on him. He had been too focused on changing back, and hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings.
The fox walked into view with its nose to the ground. It stopped and sniffed the air. Had it smelt him? He could certainly smell it – his nostrils were being assaulted by the rank, musky fox smell. His mouth went dry as another wave of terror washed over him. He shrank down as small as possible behind a bundle of shirts, hoping against hope that it couldn't find him.
It began to walk towards him, still sniffing the air. His flight instinct kicked in, every fibre in his body was screaming at him to run. It took every ounce of his willpower to not give into it. He could feel his body trembling, his control slipping, the terror gnawing at him. If he didn't do something – anything! – soon, he would lose control of the piglet. There had to be a way out of this! Ryouga must have dealt with hungry animals before, and, if he could think of a way out, there was no damn way that Ranma Saotome wouldn't do the same!
He couldn't risk getting trapped in the backpack and didn't know if he could outrun a fox, but perhaps if it wasn't too hungry he could scare it away. It was only an animal, after all. All he'd have to do was hurt it. He stepped out into the open and positioned himself into the best approximation of a combat stance that his piglet body could do.
The fox rushed in. Ranma waited until it was almost upon him, snapping down at the back of his neck. The fear was gone, pushed aside by the familiar adrenalin rush of battle. He rolled away from the closing jaws, and then launched himself upwards as hard as he could into its throat. It gave a startled squeak then turned, snarling and biting at him. He leapt clear and ran away a short distance. The fox attacked again. Ranma launched himself at its face, scrabbling furiously with his hooves, and then bounced away out of range.
The fox remained at a distance, eyeing him warily. Ranma glanced behind him; he had accidentally worked his way close to Tarou. It was likely that the fox was more scared of a person than it was of a tasty looking – but psychotic – little piglet. His eyes never leaving his attacker, Ranma kept backing up until he was at the Chinese boy's side. The fox approached cautiously at first, but shied away as it came too near the fallen boy. Apparently deciding that the small creature it had targeted was not worth the effort, the fox turned and trotted away.
Ranma breathed a sigh of relief as his heartbeat slowed down to normal. The rain had almost stopped, just the occasional drop falling, but it did not look as though it would let up for long. He was starting to feel cold again. Shivering, he leaned in against Tarou for warmth, only to recoil in shock when there was none; the other boy had grown ice cold. With growing alarm, Ranma checked Tarou's pulse. He was still alive, but he was pale and his pulse had weakened.
Ranma raced back to the trees and checked the kettle; it was about half full, more than enough to change him back. With difficulty, he managed to manoeuvre the kettle onto the portable gas stove and turned it on. Why hadn't he thought to put a blanket on the other boy? He had been left too long lying in the rain. And here he was, stuck in this helpless little pig form, unable to help the only person who could protect him while he was like this; the very person who, only a few hours earlier, had been more than happy to leave him behind.
Hadn't he done that to Ryouga though? He had splashed him with cold water and booted him deep into the forest at Ryugenzawa, a forest teeming with oversized, dangerous animals. All because he had been upset about Akane's supposed rejection of him, and he hadn't wanted to deal with Ryouga's heartbreak as well. How many other times had he done something similar to the lost boy?
Ranma checked the kettle: the water was hot. Ranma turned off the gas and carefully slid the heavy kettle to the edge of the stove, spout facing outwards. He only had one shot at this. If he spilled the water now he could waste hours wrestling with the water bottles in order to refill the kettle. He sat up, grasped the kettle between his two front hooves then pressed downwards firmly on the spout with his chin. The kettle tipped, spilling the hot water all over him, changing him back into a man.
He grinned, elated. It was such a simple task when you were a guy, to heat up some hot water in a kettle, made damn near impossible when you were only six inches high and had four legs with hooves rather than hands. In the end though, he had done it. Ranma Saotome never gave up.
Working as quickly as he could without splashing himself, he erected the tent, tossed the backpacks inside and spread out a bedroll. He grabbed Tarou's cloak from where it had been discarded in the mud. It was made of a heavy, warm material, and was still mostly dry on the underside. It would do to protect him from the other boy's wet clothes.
The wind was starting to pick up again, cold against his naked skin. It was about to start raining again.
Ranma bundled up the unconscious Tarou in the cloak and picked him up. In his girl form, the Chinese boy was surprisingly light in his arms. Ranma carried him inside the tent and laid him gently on the bedroll. He had to get Tarou out of his wet clothes and wrap him up in something dry and warm, but before he began, he tugged on a pair of pants. Ranma didn't know what Tarou's reaction would be if he woke up to being undressed by a naked guy, but he suspected it wouldn't be pleasant.
Ranma pulled off the cloak and laid it aside; he could use it if he had to go outside later. He tugged off the pantyhose sash, revealing a leather pouch, about the size of his hand, which had been tucked securely into its folds. He placed them both on the ground. Ranma then set about removing the scaled vest, careful not to move the injured shoulder too much, followed by the matching scaled bracers, the white baggy pants and the shoes. It was lucky that his former girl-curse had left him mostly immune to the sight of a female body: Ryouga would have haemorrhaged and fainted by now. He finished by wrapping a blanket snugly around the Chinese boy, and then left to make some tea to warm himself up.
After he had made the tea, Ranma sat down crosslegged on his bedroll with a blanket draped around his shoulders. He sipped his tea, deep in thought, listening to the hypnotic rhythm of raindrops on canvas. He'd had another of those weird panic attacks again – that feeling of terror, the almost overwhelming need to feel safe and protected. At least this time he'd been able to override it, but it left him troubled all the same. He'd never felt like that before, not even when he was a child. Why would he start feeling like that now?
His eyes drifted back to the leather pouch. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands briefly, then opened it and tipped the contents into his hand. He was surprised by how little there was inside: a hunting knife – one of the folding types – and a sharpening stone, a handful of Chinese coins and notes, a scrap of folded red silk and a small tin with Chinese writing on the lid. He pried the lid off the tin to reveal several short sticks of incense. They smelt strong and unpleasant, but strangely familiar. Puzzled, he pushed the lid back on the tin and dropped it back into the pouch. He opened the silk; it contained a single golden earring, similar to the ones Tarou wore. A spare, maybe? He rewrapped the earring, and placed it and the other items back into the pouch.
He tucked the pouch back into the sash where he had found it, and then lay down on his bedroll, glad to see that the Chinese boy hadn't woken up in the meantime. Tarou would be furious if he found out that Ranma had been poking around in his belongings. He wasn't even sure what he had expected to find – if anything – maybe something that would tell him about the young man he was travelling with. He knew almost nothing about Tarou, other than he was almost always angry and near impossible to get along with for more than two minutes at a time. Actually, he knew very little about most of the martial artists that came through Nerima, even those he had known for a long time. Somehow, amongst all the fighting, rivalry and fiancées, it had never seemed that important.
He closed his eyes. He had initially intended to stay awake until Tarou had woken up, but the stress and exertion of the day had worn him out and before long, he had drifted off to sleep.
He was a piglet again, racing through the trees as fast as he could. He was alone, no-one to save him, no-one to protect him. He was being chased. At first, he could not tell what by, but the thick, rank smell of foxes that filled his nostrils soon told him. He could hear them behind him, their feet pounding in the mud, getting closer. They were almost on top of him now. He could feel their hot breath panting down his neck, smell its rotting scent. He closed his eyes, waiting for the teeth to sink into his back, biting out his life.
He opened his eyes. He was back at the Tendou house now. Akane was there. She had saved him, brought him back somehow. With a happy cry, she picked him up, cradling him in her arms pressed between her breasts. He was warm and safe and loved, and no-one could hurt him again.
Suddenly he was himself again, but Akane didn't care. She didn't smack him or call him a pervert, she kept her arms wrapped around him, making him feel warm and safe and loved, and that no-one could hurt him again. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely. He reached out and brushed his fingertips across her face. She smiled sweetly up at him and spoke.
"You normally undress people while they're asleep, fem-boy?"
Ranma awoke with a start, and found himself staring into the cold, steel-grey eyes of Tarou. "Hey, you're awake!" he said brightly. It was pitch-black outside the tent; he guessed that had been asleep for at least an hour.
"I notice you left me in girl form, too," the other said, his gaze dark and piercing despite his casual tone.
Ranma sat up hurriedly, his hands raised reflexively. "I wasn't doing anything! I ain't like that!"
"No?" Tarou sat up abruptly and attempted to cross his arms contemptuously. His face twisted with pain as he clutched his left arm. "What happened? How did I get here?"
"You lost the fight with Ryouga. I found you lying unconscious in the rain and I brought you in here. You were freezing cold too, which is why-"
"-which is why I'm not wearing anything?" Tarou interjected, with a sarcastic smirk. "I'm touched." He paused, his expression changing to disgust as he realised what he'd said. "Not literally, I hope. It wouldn't surprise me though, pervert."
"Hey! I did just save your life, you know!" Ranma scowled, beginning to wonder why he had bothered to do so. Of all the ungrateful, prickly, condescending…
Tarou snorted contemptuously. "It'd take more than a little rain to finish me off. And even if you did… why? It's not like I would have done the same for you."
"I'm not like you. I see someone in trouble and I just gotta do something."
Tarou groaned and cradled his head in his right hand. "He hit me with a massive ki blast," he murmured. "I've never felt anything like it."
"Yeah, I know." Ranma smiled knowingly, his previous anger forgotten. "That was a Shishi Hokodan. A strong one too, he must be pretty upset." Ryouga wasn't the only one, Ranma noted; Tarou was visibly flustered, apparently trying to find a way of supporting his left arm with his right without either limb touching his breasts. In the end he gave up, and began gingerly prodding around his injured shoulder, wincing as he did so.
"How's the shoulder?" he asked.
"Dislocated. I can fix it." Ranma stared as the Chinese boy grasped his left upper arm firmly in his other hand and, gritting his teeth, began to pull forward away from his body. Eventually he released his arm and went back to cradling it protectively, his breath coming in ragged gasps from the pain. "Maybe not. The muscles have seized."
"Why don't you let me help?" Ranma offered.
Tarou looked up at him suspiciously. "Why are you helping me?"
Ranma shrugged. "I don't want to waste time trying to find a doctor if we can fix that shoulder now." He almost missed the peculiar expression that flashed briefly in Tarou's eyes; had he seen it on anyone else, he might have guessed it to be gratitude, although he couldn't figure out what he had just said that the other boy would be grateful for.
Tarou nodded reluctantly and lay back on the bedroll. "Come here, sit beside me," he said, gesturing with his left hand. Ranma did so. The Chinese boy took Ranma's right hand in his own, and gently placed it on his injured shoulder. "Here," he said, using his fingertips as a guide. "Feel where the joint is? It needs to be up here." Ranma disentangled his fingers from Tarou's and felt his own shoulder to compare. "Now, what you need to do is pull my arm upward… firmly. The shoulder should slip back in."
Ranma stood, and with a firm grip Tarou's left arm, began to pull steadily upwards until the entire shoulder had been lifted slightly from the ground. He looked down at Tarou curiously.
"Hold… there," Tarou grunted. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the pull, his breaths forcedly slow and even. Beads of sweat began to form across his brow, running down his face. Finally, the shoulder slipped back into place with a sick, wet clunk.
Ranma lowered the arm gently to the ground. "How did you know what to do? This happened before?"
Tarou nodded slowly, his expression inscrutable.
"When?" The Chinese boy turned to Ranma with a dangerous glare. "Yeah, I know. None of my business, right?"
Ranma pushed aside the tent flap and peered into the night. The rain had stopped again. "I'm gonna make some more tea. Want some? I'll bring in the kettle when I'm done and change you back."
"Yes," Tarou said quietly, his expression unreadable again. "Thank you."
Ranma stood in the dark waiting for the kettle to boil. What a waste of an opportunity. After three days they had tracked down the elusive lost boy, only to have it rain and turn him into a pig. Then there was the problem of his idiot travelling companion taking it into his head to try and go after Ryouga himself. Ranma didn't know whether he could talk Ryouga out of one of his depressive states, but he knew for certain that there wasn't a hope in hell that he would listen to Tarou. That is, assuming the Chinese boy had even attempted talking. A way with words wasn't his forte; at least, not the kind of words that would actually help a tense situation. Ranma knew from past experience that he wasn't exactly gifted in that area himself, but at least he tried to say the right thing.
He sighed. At any rate, with Tarou conscious and his shoulder fixed, they wouldn't need to waste time backtracking to the town in the morning and could head straight out after Ryouga - wherever he had gone. He had flown away from the fight, leaving them with no tracks to follow and no direction to head in.
The water in the kettle was boiling. Ranma switched off the gas stove and picked up the kettle. As he was straightening up, he saw a flash of light from the corner of his eye. He spun around in its direction, just in time to see a pillar of bright reddish light emerge from the trees, higher up on a mountain ridge about a day's journey away. It formed into a huge sphere and began to fall. A Perfect Shishi Hokodan. With a flash of understanding, Ranma realised what it was that Nabiki had reported as 'lights in the sky'. Ryouga had given them a way of tracking him by night.
---
A rough, calloused hand gripped him by the jaw, tilting his face upwards towards his attacker. Two more pairs of hands gripped him tightly by the arms, and legs scissored around his own prevented him from breaking free.
A gruff voice issued from the darkness behind him. "Watch it, boss. He bites."
Despite his fear, he allowed himself a satisfied smirk. He could still taste the tang of the man's blood. He heard a whimper from another of his attackers; one had foolishly gotten into range of his feet, and had been rewarded with a lightning fast kick to the groin.
The man in front of him tutted disapprovingly, his breath reeking of rice wine. "Such a pretty little thing, too. Your mother never teach you better manners, pantyhose kid?" He glared fiercely at the man and tried to twist his head free of that iron grip. There was a bout of derisive laughter, and his arms were jammed up harder behind his back to the point of pain. "So much for your training. You might be fast but you're still weak as a little girl."
There was another burst of laughter from behind him. "Ha! Girly-boy!"
He tried to steady himself, tried to ignore the rage and fear welling up from within. It wasn't fair! All he had been doing was going to the well for a drink, since he was no longer allowed water inside the house in case his curse was triggered. These men had seen him and accused him of spying on them. Most of the adults left him alone, but these ones hated him – especially the ringleader.
He needed to get away, but they were holding him too tightly. He forced his body to relax, hoping that the men holding him might do the same.
"I didn't see nothing," he whispered, relieved that he didn't sound as scared as he felt. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The ringleader released his jaw and moved around behind him. He could hear whispering in the dark. He could feel their grips start to loosen. He knew he should run back to the house where he lived, but then he saw the moonlight glinting off the top of a bucket of water by the well.
He dove forward, slipping out of the men's hands and unthreading his legs from theirs. In an instant, he was upright again, sprinting toward the well. He heard shouts from behind him.
"Hey! Little bastard!"
"Keep him away from that water!"
They were just behind him. He could feel them breathing over him, smell the rancid stench of too much wine. One of them seized his arm, snapping him back around and throwing him to the ground. A wave of pain exploded from his left shoulder as it hit the ground, forcing him to cry out. Rough hands and heavy bodies piled onto him, holding him down, hurting him. Tears of rage, pain, terror and frustration welled up in his eyes.
"Let's teach pantyhose boy a lesson!"
From seemingly out of thin air, he heard a voice calling his name. At the same time, the weight seemed to shift from his body, and he lashed out wildly with a clenched fist towards the voice.
Tarou awoke with a start, and opened his eyes to see Ranma sitting beside him with a look of concern in his clear blue eyes, and the fist that had swung blindly at him moments earlier caught firmly between his palms. He snatched his hand back and clutched at his left shoulder, but the throbbing pain from the dream was already fading.
"You okay, man? You were dreaming."
Tarou blinked, relieved to find that the tears from his dream hadn't made their way into the real world. Sometimes he was just too emotional for his own good, and the last thing he needed was to show any weakness in front of fem-boy.
He sat up and looked around him. Sunlight was streaming in through the open tent flap, and outside he could see a campfire and a cooking pot hanging over it. He sniffed appreciatively, his mouth beginning to water.
"Hungry?" Ranma asked. Tarou nodded in reply. "So am I. Let's eat."
Ranma crouched by the fire. "Kasumi packed the stuff needed to make a curry, so I made one out of the leftover duck from yesterday," he explained. He scooped some rice into a bowl and ladled some curry over the top. Tarou accepted the offered bowl and made a show of sniffing it cautiously.
"Hey! I can cook, you know," Ranma said indignantly, serving a portion for himself.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," Tarou replied with a smirk.
Ranma looked puzzled, apparently trying to work out whether he had just been insulted or not. He brightened. "Thanks."
Tarou took a bite of his curry. Surprisingly, it tasted quite good. He finished the rest hungrily.
"You talk in your sleep, you know?" the pigtailed boy asked innocently.
Tarou felt the blood drain from his face and his fists clenched reflexively. If fem-boy had heard…. he could already hear the laughter, the taunts. With a growl, he flung the empty bowl at the pigtailed boy's grinning face. Ranma caught the bowl deftly with his free hand.
"Whoa there, calm down! I don't understand Mandarin, okay? Jeez, I didn't think you'd take it like that!"
Tarou took a moment to compose himself, berating himself for being so easily manipulated by fem-boy. That dream must have unsettled him more than he realised - except that it wasn't just a dream. He'd been twelve years old at the time. He'd upset some drunks late one night, and had been too cocky to realise that he was hopelessly outnumbered. And then they'd called him the Name and his mind had just snapped, the way it always had back then. The way it sometimes did even now.
Tarou became vaguely aware that Ranma had been speaking to him. He looked up curiously.
"So, does this mean you want some more?" Ranma repeated with a smile, gesturing with the empty bowl.
"Uh… yes," Tarou answered, momentarily nonplussed.
Ranma dished out another helping, handed the bowl back, and resumed eating his own.
"You're even touchier than usual this morning. Must've been some dream," Ranma offered casually between mouthfuls.
Ah, so that was it. It appeared that fem-boy was trying to find out what was bothering him; trying to get some more ammunition for their next argument, no doubt.
Tarou held Ranma's gaze with his own, smirking. "Do you have to work at being this annoying, or is it a natural talent?"
"Hey! I wasn't… I was just trying to…" Ranma stammered, visibly flustered.
"What?" Tarou sneered. "Trying to be friendly? Concerned? Or do you just enjoy poking around in other people's business? Back off and leave me alone, fem-boy!"
Without waiting for Ranma's response, Tarou stood up and strode away from the campsite.
"Who are you calling fem-boy, jerk?!" Ranma retorted angrily, watching the rapidly retreating figure. The stupid, oversensitive jerk couldn't even tell when someone was actually trying to be nice to him! He didn't know why he bothered sometimes. Nobody tried to understand his intentions, always judging him and coming to the wrong conclusions. Everybody around him saw only what they wanted to see: the fiancé…the rival…pervert…enemy. Nobody cared how he felt.
He stomped over to the tent and started tugging the pegs out of the ground, prior to packing it up.
---
Tarou finished the kata he had been doing, coming to rest in a horse stance. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, once again feeling calm and centred. He'd been too close to losing self control and exposing his emotions for his liking. It was far better to be in control of them, especially when you could have so much fun with those who weren't.
He drew himself upright and squeezed his left shoulder with his right hand. It was still tender, as were his ribs, but thankfully both seemed to be healing quickly. While his human body could hold its own against most opponents, he no longer had his cursed form to fall back on and he hated the thought of being weakened and vulnerable for any longer than he had to be.
He looked around to see Ranma approaching, still looking angry.
"You finished sulking yet?" the pigtailed boy snapped.
"Me sulking?" Tarou answered breezily. "No, I was training. I'm surprised you didn't recognise it." He chuckled. Ranma glared at him.
"I would've offered to spar with you but since you're injured I didn't think it would be very sporting. Pounding the crap out of someone who's injured just ain't my style."
"I'm touched," Tarou smirked. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but isn't it time to be packing up?"
"I already have. That's what I came to tell you."
Tarou turned and started to walk towards the campsite, stepping around a large puddle left from the previous night's rain. Ranma followed closely behind.
"So, where did you see those lights last night, fem-boy?" he tossed over his shoulder.
"Stop calling me that!!"
Tarou was hit from behind by a surge of water. Instantly, he felt the change shrinking and distorting him. Irritated, he turned around to see Ranma standing smugly by the puddle on one leg, having kicked the surface of the water without getting wet himself. He put his leg down and quickly backed out of the range of the puddle, grinning.
"Oops, sorry," the pigtailed boy sniggered. "I've already packed the kettle up too, so I guess you'll have to stay like that."
Tarou growled and clenched his fists.
"I have a name, remember? So quit it with the fem-boy thing!" Ranma said sternly. He smiled nastily. "Besides, who's the crossdresser now?"
Tarou stepped forward, feeling the familiar surge of his anger rising. His pants were soaked, and they clung to his legs annoyingly. He tightened his sash around his narrower waist and raised his fists.
Ranma laughed again and assumed his combat stance. "You want to fight? Suits me… fem-boy!" he said.
Ranma lunged forward, aiming a flurry of punches at his opponent's face. Tarou dodged the incoming blows with ease, backing away steadily.
"Oh, no you don't," Ranma muttered, spotting the approaching puddle over Tarou's shoulder. "I've seen that trick, remember?"
"Oh?"
Ranma came to a halt. Tarou stepped back several more paces and did the same, considering his options quickly. His left arm would be weaker than usual and most likely slower. If he took a strong hit to his cracked ribs, they could end up broken. To top it off, he was fighting in a body that he wasn't used to, one that – if Ranma's girl form was any indication – would be weaker than his male body. Possibly faster, though.
"What was that about not fighting the injured?" Tarou chuckled. "Or did you realise that was the only way you'd actually beat me? Very sporting."
"This is from someone who likes to soak their opponents before a fight?"
"Isn't that what you just did to me?"
"I was inspired," Ranma spat contemptuously.
"Or maybe you just wanted to see my girl body again?"
"What?!" Ranma shouted, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "No!!"
"Didn't you get a good enough look last night?" Tarou asked languidly, raising an eyebrow in a manner he hoped would appear seductive. "You only like girls when they're really guys? Pervert."
"That's it! I ain't holdin' back no more!!" Ranma roared. He launched himself forward with a flying kick aimed at Tarou's chest.
As Ranma approached, Tarou side-stepped the incoming kick and swung around with a swift roundhouse kick. His foot impacted solidly against the side of Ranma's head with a satisfying thwack. He'd been right: his kick definitely wasn't as powerful in this body – it was lucky that he hadn't been relying on it to win. The leg of his pants – sodden from all the water that had trickled down to the cuff while they'd stood still talking – slapped against Ranma's face, spraying him with water. Tarou prayed it was enough to force the change.
The little piglet plummeted to the ground roughly. It clambered to its feet and glared up at him with hatred.
"It's a pity about that kettle being packed, isn't it?" Tarou commented. He was feeling immensely pleased with himself. "I guess you'll be spending the day like that." Ranma grunted angrily in response.
He strode back to the campsite, Ranma following closely behind, and hoisted both backpacks onto his shoulders. He glared down at the little piglet pointedly.
"Now, where was it that you saw the Shishi Hokodan last night?"
As soon as Ranma had pointed a hoof to indicate the direction, Tarou set off at a brisk walk. The little idiot pig would have to keep up as best he could; it was his own fault they would be travelling in their cursed forms for the day.
Tarou didn't reduce the pace the entire day, except to pause briefly a couple of times while Ranma corrected their heading. By late afternoon they were approaching the ridge that Ranma had been steering them towards. Tarou stopped and peered over his shoulder; Ranma was still following at a trot, having fallen quite a distance behind. Tarou dropped the backpacks on the ground and perched on a nearby rock while he massaged the feeling back into his shoulders. He took a swig from his water bottle, enjoying the short break while the piglet caught up.
Despite the pace he had pushed, they hadn't managed to cover as much ground as he had hoped. He was feeling unusually worn out too, most likely caused by having to carry both backpacks with his lighter and less muscular female body. He wasn't the only one feeling the strain, he noted with satisfaction; Ranma was completely exhausted. The little piglet waddled up and collapsed in a heap at his feet, breathing heavily.
Tarou swallowed another mouthful of water. Ranma looked up with a grunt and pointed with a hoof at the bottle; apparently he was thirsty too. Tarou couldn't blame him – it had been a warm day. He took another swig of water and grinned spitefully down at the piglet. It was sitting at his feet, staring up at him pathetically with huge, round, glistening eyes. With a sigh, he crouched down and poured some water into a cupped hand. No one could say he was completely heartless, he thought to himself.
The piglet looked disdainfully – or at least, the closest piggy approximation of it – at his hand, and then stared up at him like it thought he was crazy.
"What? You were expecting a water dish?" Tarou asked with some amusement. "Take it or leave it." He tilted his hand as if to tip the water out. Ranma shoved his muzzle into his hand and quickly sucked up the water. Tarou chuckled to himself. He quite liked Ranma in this form; dependent, vulnerable and most importantly, quiet.
He stood up, heaved the backpacks back onto his shoulders and started to march off. He had barely gone ten paces before he heard an indignant squeal from behind him. Ranma hadn't moved.
"I want to get to the base of that ridge before we make camp. Are you coming or not?"
The piglet shook its head, and then flopped out onto the ground in an exaggerated manner, still breathing heavily. Tarou guessed that the exaggeration had been done to communicate his tiredness; Ranma did appear to be genuinely exhausted, rather than just acting.
Tarou tapped his foot impatiently. He should just leave the little idiot here to fend for himself; it's what Ranma would do to him. All the same, he would have expected Ranma to have left him out in the rain with his injuries, and he hadn't. The pigtailed boy had helped fix his shoulder, too. He wasn't naïve enough to think there wouldn't be a catch though; the last time he had accepted help from Ranma he had been double-crossed and had ended up nearly fried by that maniac Ashura-cursed woman.
"If I didn't need you later..." he muttered under his breath. He marched over, scooped up the piglet and then strode off in the direction of the ridge.
---
Ranma leaned back into the crook of Tarou's arm with a sigh. He had been utterly exhausted, and the gentle rocking motion of the Chinese boy's movement was profoundly relaxing. While he didn't like the idea of being held by Tarou, it was infinitely preferable over being forced to walk the rest of the way. The fact that he was actually being carried had come as a huge surprise; Tarou had been the one who had forced him to travel as a pig, turned him into a pig the day before, had tried to kill him several times for no apparent reason, insulted him all the time… but on rare occasions, he could act almost… kindly.
Travelling as a pig had been gruelling. He had been forced to keep up a brisk trot for the entire day and, although he was extremely fit, the piglet body seemed to tire very easily. Several times the terrain had become rougher, and the rocks and ditches that he normally would just step over without even thinking had to be climbed over. When he had inevitably fallen behind, the forest seemed to close in around him and every sound was magnified; the leaves in the breeze, a bird's call, the rustling of a small animal in the bushes – every sound like an alarm in his head, warning of danger.
He hated the fear that came when he was alone in this body, and he hated the almost overwhelming need for comfort and protection that followed. Ranma Saotome didn't need comfort and affection like some sissy girl. He was strong, he didn't need anybody to look after him; he should be the one to protect the weak – not the other way around.
He had a sudden mental image of P-Chan nestled in Akane's arms, practically oozing with contentment. Ranma had always thought that was just Ryouga's way – fragile, emotional Ryouga finding comfort in the only way he knew how. He hadn't considered how much the piglet curse might be to blame.
Ranma was startled from his reverie by a familiar scent wafting past. He breathed in deeply, trying to identify that one particular scent that had awoken him. His sense of smell was considerably stronger in this form. He could smell the trees, earth, some unidentifiable animal odours, something that was a peculiar blend of male and female (Tarou, presumably) and, here and there, a sulphurous smell – a hot spring! He could change back into a guy! He sniffed again, trying to determine the direction. As far as he could tell, it was nearby and getting closer, but off to the left.
He looked up to see if Tarou had noticed, but he was just staring ahead impassively as he walked. He grunted to attract Tarou's attention.
"What do you want?" the Chinese boy grumbled irritably.
Ranma pointed a hoof in the direction of the hot spring and squealed.
"No, this way," Tarou said, pointing straight ahead.
Ranma shook his head impatiently and pointed again. This was getting frustrating. How did you try to convince someone to go where you told them to when you couldn't talk? He sniffed exaggeratedly, trying to indicate that he'd smelt something, and then pointed with his hoof.
Tarou stopped and looked at him curiously. Ranma sniffed and pointed once again, nodding excitedly when he saw Tarou sniff the air himself. He pointed again.
"Fine. We'll go your way."
Relieved, Ranma settled back into his resting place as Tarou starting walking towards the hot spring.
They had almost reached the base of the ridge when Tarou stopped again briefly.
"I can smell it now. Hot spring, right?" Ranma nodded. "It's a bit rough when a pig tells me to take a bath," he muttered, but without the usual sarcastic edge to his voice.
The hot spring was set into rocks near the base of a cliff; it was more than large enough for the two of them. As soon as he'd been set down, Ranma sprinted over to it and jumped in with a happy squeal. He relaxed back against the rocks at the pool's edge with a contented sigh. It was good to be a guy again – good to be human again, he corrected himself.
He turned to see Tarou approaching, soap and washing bucket in hand.
"Pigs were not built for long distance travel," Ranma said wearily. "I'm even too tired to kick your butt for makin' me travel like that."
"You sure you don't want to try?" Tarou asked, raising an eyebrow hopefully.
"Nah, maybe later."
Absent-mindedly, Ranma kicked at the surface of the water, watching as Tarou put down the bucket and began to strip off.
"What are you looking at?" Tarou asked irritably, kicking his pants off his ankles. Her pants, her ankles, Ranma's brain interjected.
"I'm not looking. It's just..." Ranma faltered.
"Just what?" Tarou stood glaring down at Ranma impatiently, hands on hips.
"You're lucky… with that body, I mean." Tarou's eyes had narrowed, unimpressed. "You still look like you," Ranma clarified quickly. "If you wore baggy clothes like mine and strapped your chest down, you'd still look like a guy. I can't. My girl body is too short and my hair's the wrong colour."
Kneeling, Tarou dipped the bucket in the hot spring and emptied it over himself. "I'd look as much like a guy as I normally do, you mean?" he said quietly.
Ranma blinked in surprise. "No, I didn't say that!"
Tarou finished soaping up his now male body and rinsed himself off with another bucket of water from the spring. He stepped into the pool opposite Ranma and settled back into water with a sigh. Ranma climbed out and began to lather the soap over his body.
"You know, it's kinda weird being out here like this. It's like I keep havin' to work together with enemies and rivals. Like with Ryouga… we fought all the time. But we've been through a lot together. I've saved his life, he's saved mine and all that. Turned out he wasn't such a bad guy. Mousse, too."
"You're friends?"
"Sort of." Ranma shrugged. "Dunno, really. Don't know what they'd say about me."
He rinsed himself off and climbed back into the hot spring, settling back into a comfortable niche in the rocks he had found earlier. He looked across at Tarou, who was leaning back against the rocks with his eyes closed. It seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject Ranma had been eager to discuss since the previous day.
"So… why'd you attack Ryouga?"
The Chinese boy opened his eyes and gazed at him irritably. "I didn't."
"What happened, then?"
"He saw me. He started to get angry. Then he attacked."
"Did you say anything that would've pissed him off?"
"No," Tarou said abruptly. He then paused for a moment, thinking, and then shrugged. "I did say that he could come quietly, but that I wouldn't back down if he didn't."
"Yeah, that'd do it." Ranma muttered. Ryouga wouldn't back down from a perceived challenge, especially not from someone he disliked such as Pantyhose Tarou. "I told you you'd need me to get Ryouga back, didn't I? You should've waited for me."
Tarou folded his arms across his chest crossly. "And what would you have done, genius?"
"Talked to him."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What would you have said?" Tarou said, looking mildly amused.
Ranma shrugged. "Dunno. I would've thought of something."
"And if he didn't listen? You said he'll be angry and upset. You also said you used to be enemies. Have you thought that he might not listen to you?" He gave a chuckle. "Your brain and your mouth aren't always on speaking terms, fem-boy. What makes you think you'll even say the right thing?"
"Hey!" Ranma exclaimed, angrily. "And stop calling me fem-boy!! I'm a guy! I don't even have the girl-curse and you still keep calling me fem-boy!" He was surprised to hear that his voice had risen to a shout.
"I guess it stuck," Tarou quipped.
"I have a name. Use it. Or don't call me anything. But quit it with the fem-boy thing! And crossdresser! I'm a guy! Even when I'm a girl, I'm a guy!"
"Even when you're a pig?" Tarou interjected breezily.
"Yes! I'm still a guy…" Ranma ground to a halt, his momentum suddenly lost as he realised that Tarou was not only unfazed by his rant, he was quite obviously enjoying it. Realisation dawned. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Tarou simply chuckled in reply.
"That wasn't very nice."
"I don't pretend to be nice."
Ranma leaned back into the water, puzzled at how the Chinese boy had managed to derail a simple conversation so quickly. "What is it with you and names, anyway?" he asked, curious.
Tarou's face fell, suddenly serious again. "What?" he muttered suspiciously.
"You won't call anyone by their name. Just 'cause you don't like yours, it don't mean you can't use theirs. People mightn't call you … well, you know… if you didn't keep calling them things like fem-boy and pig-boy and stuff."
Tarou folded his arms petulantly across his chest and scowled, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him.
"What I don't get is why it's such a big deal in the first place," Ranma ploughed on, undaunted. "I mean, your name's Japanese, right? How many people in China would even know what it meant? How'd you find out what it meant? And what difference does it make, anyway?"
Tarou lifted his head and locked eyes with Ranma, a look of cold hatred burning in his grey eyes. Ranma felt his mouth fall open; the force of that gaze was almost tangible, boring into him deeply. The Chinese boy rose stiffly, climbed out of the hot spring and stomped off, his fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles had gone white.
Ranma watched the retreating figure, numbly. He scolded himself for being tactless, for once not just because he could be turned into a helpless little black pig and abandoned in the mountains with no supplies. A couple of days ago, he would have enjoyed angering Tarou like that. He would have given chase and tried to stir him up further, perhaps goaded him into a fight with a few well-timed pantyhose remarks. A couple of days ago, he wouldn't have seen the look of anguish that had been in those eyes, barely concealed behind the hatred.
---
"Curse that stupid fem-boy!!" Tarou muttered under his breath, as he extracted his fist from the tree trunk in front of him. Curse that idiot for making him lose his self control. For asking him questions he shouldn't be asking, making him remember things that he had almost blocked out – things he didn't want to remember. Curse that stupid shoulder injury, for reminding him of that time when he had injured it before. Curse that bloody curse-swapping water for leaving him with this stupid weak body and causing him to get re-injured in the first place. And most of all, curse his stupid name, without which his life wouldn't have been the torment it was!
He'd had to get out of there. It had been so easy to imagine wrapping his fingers around the pigtailed boy's throat and squeezing until those questions stopped; so easy to imagine plunging his fists, over and over, into that too talkative mouth. It was one thing, in a fight, to seize someone by the top of their head and twist; quite another to beat the twerp to death in a murderous rage for asking one question too many. Especially after…
"You okay, man? You were dreaming." Concerned, blue eyes looking down at him… worried about him.
"Why don't you let me help?" Fingers trailing gently over his injured shoulder. Steady hands gripping his arm firmly, preparing to reset his shoulder.
"We were enemies, fought all the time… turned out he wasn't such a bad guy." Not talking about him, but drawing a comparison, as if…
No. Can't think about that.
A faint stinging in his hand brought him back from his thoughts. A quick glance indicated the cause: a fragment of wood from the tree was embedded between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers. Idly, he picked it out, leaving a smear of blood across his fingers. It was strange to see his own blood on his hands. He rubbed at the smear with his other hand until the mark was gone.
Fem-boy had been right about one thing; his name was Japanese, and he hadn't always known what it meant. He had only a dim memory of the first time he had asked about it, most memories of his childhood having faded into a vague, unpleasant blur. The memory tried to surface, but he pushed it away angrily. It rose again, dancing… teasing, and somehow he knew that once summoned, he couldn't make it go away that easily.
He had been about five years old, and his mother had found him crying bitterly over how the other children were scared of him and how they wouldn't let him play with them and how they chased him away and called him freak...
"Why am I different? Why don't they change in water?"
She had sat him on her lap, her arms wrapped comfortingly around him as she told him the story of how he had been born. It had been a difficult birth, but a kindly old man had helped her through it. He had taken the newborn baby and bathed him in a spring, but the water had cursed him, changed him into the creature that would become every time he was splashed with cold water.
"But why? Why can't I just be normal?"
She hadn't known why. Perhaps it was a custom, she explained. Perhaps it was an accident, although she thought it was unlikely - the old man had seemed so wise and thoughtful. As befitting the custom of their village, she'd asked him to name her son. He had meditated for three days and nights before he could come up with a name he felt suitable. It was Japanese, she had explained, like the man who had named him. That was why it was longer than everybody else's and sounded different. But she was sure it was a good name; that it meant something special.
Tarou snorted in contempt, wondering – not for the first time – what kind of fool would trust something as important as their child's name to someone they had only just met. What kind of fools would base an entire tradition over who could name a child, and who could change that name? And what kind of heartless morons would send a pregnant woman off to work in the fields by herself, where any perverted old goat could come along and help her give birth and bathe her newborn son in a cursed spring and give him a stupid name and then wander off, giving him no way of changing it?
Of course, he had eventually found out about his name. About a year later, a traveller had stayed at the village for several days. It turned out that the man spoke Japanese, and at some point, somebody must have asked what his name meant. Before long, the whole village knew. He had been heartbroken when he'd found out. He was a freak in name as well as body. He didn't know which was worse, being called the name itself or…
"…pretty little pantyhose boy…"
…what the name meant. The other children were the worst – jeering, taunting, mocking him; the adults were at least less obvious...
"…pantyhose bastard…"
…most of the time. It was then that he began to learn the valuable lesson that screams of terror were infinitely preferable to laughter.
His mother, through either shame or pity, never called him by his name again. Within several months, she would never be able to call him anything again.
Tarou aimed a final, half-hearted punch at the tree. He needed to be calm about this, needed to stay focused, couldn't keep thinking about the past. He needed to find that idiot Ryouga, get their curses switched back, and then he could hand fem-boy over to the old goat like a little pig to the slaughter. And then he would get his name changed. He hadn't managed to actually make the arrangement with Happousai before they'd left – the little freak had kept running away, cackling all the while like it was the best game in the world – but Tarou was certain that he'd agree quickly enough once the plan was explained to him. All he had to do was put up with fem-boy for a little while longer.
Slowly, he walked back to the hot spring. He knelt by the pile of clothes he had removed earlier, studiously avoiding Ranma's gaze which he could feel boring into him. He filled up the washing bucket with hot water, dunked in his pants and began to viciously scrub at them with the soap.
"You can do mine too, if you like," Ranma said, sprawling about in the water lazily. "Y'know, I've been thinking-"
"Really?" Tarou snorted.
"Yeah, really," Ranma continued, his voice hardening briefly. "You got any powerful techniques I haven't seen yet? Ki attacks?"
Tarou looked up from his washing suspiciously. "Why?"
"If I can't talk Ryouga down… and I'm not saying I can't, just if I can't… we'll have to fight him."
"And you want to find out whether I have any techniques that might be useful."
"Ryouga's a helluva lot tougher than you in his normal body," Ranma said. "I doubt even that pantyhose rebound kick woulda knocked him out. Unless I can get to him with some hot water and change him back, I gotta come up a way to defeat him in that body."
Tarou folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Ranma pointedly. "Does this mean you'll tell me about the techniques you have that I haven't seen?"
Ranma hesitated. "Sure," he said eventually. "We're gonna have to work together, right?"
Tarou drummed his fingers on his bicep. "Fine. You first."
Ranma crossed his arms and glared indignantly up at Tarou. "What? Don't you trust me?"
Tarou nearly burst out laughing, but instead settled for merely raising an eyebrow. "Are you saying you trust me?"
"You? Not a chance!" Ranma sniggered. "I trust you about as much as I trust the freak around undies!"
Tarou gave an indifferent snort to show just how little he cared about Ranma's opinion of him, and then went back to his washing.
"Okay. Fine. I'll go first." Ranma paused, forehead creased. "Maybe the Hiryuu Shoten Ha. But he helped me train in it and knows how to avoid it. And he can fly, so it might not have that much effect."
Tarou nodded in agreement, surprised that Ranma had known the Hiryuu Shoten Ha.
"Moko Takabisha… nah, too weak."
"Never heard of it."
"It's my counter to Ryouga's Shishi Hokodan," Ranma explained carefully. "A perfect Shishi Hokodan might be strong enough…if it was a big one."
"You can do that?"
"No. And I can't do a perfect Moko Takabisha either. I don't even know if there is a perfect form, being a different type of ki and all."
"They're related?" It was more of a statement than a question, but it was designed to encourage Ranma to keep talking. At the very least, he might find out enough information to be able to counter these techniques if fem-boy ever decided to use one on him in the future.
Ranma looked up at him guardedly. "Yeah. They work much the same way. I created the Moko Takabisha from the Shishi Hokodan, since it's more suitable for me to use."
Not a very informative answer, Tarou thought. He remembered back to what Ranma had said about the Shishi Hokodan, when he'd first explained what it was; he'd said something about Ryouga being upset. "It's based on emotion, isn't it?" Ranma's look of surprise answered the question for him. "Anger?"
"Depression."
"And yours?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow enquiringly.
"Confidence."
"Confidence?" Tarou let out an amused chuckle. "I always knew your ego had to be useful for something." He tipped out his bucket of soapy water, and fetched clean water to rinse his clothes.
"C'mon, what about you?" Ranma said impatiently. "Ki attacks?"
"No," Tarou shrugged. "I've never needed them. My powerful technique was my cursed form. Other than that, I use straight hand to hand and I use this." He tapped his forehead for emphasis.
"That didn't help much yesterday."
"I don't know. I did give him a sprained ankle without laying a finger on him," Tarou said, smirking. "Which is better than you ever managed one on one with me, I might add."
"A sprained ankle?" Ranma snorted incredulously. He burst out laughing.
Tarou felt a familiar, unpleasant flush of warmth across his face. Indignantly, he crossed his arms and attempted to scowl at Ranma – who had progressed to rolling around in the water clutching his sides – but for some unknown reason, against his will, the corners of his mouth kept twitching upwards. Perhaps it was a trivial thing for a martial artist of his calibre to be proud of; it certainly sounded silly, if you didn't know that he'd been dealing with a huge, nearly unstoppable monster.
"Okay, so it wasn't that impressive," Tarou mumbled awkwardly. "I was improvising."
"Hey, I'm impressed!" Ranma exclaimed, still grinning. "So, how'd you do it?"
"I kept dodging in the same direction, fast. That body is very top heavy, and hooves can't get a good grip on slippery ground. If you turn too fast, you go down. Hard. Twist a leg the wrong way with that much weight on top of it, and it can break."
"You tried to break his leg?" Ranma asked, frowning slightly.
Tarou nodded indifferently.
"That might explain why he flew away afterwards," Ranma added.
Tarou stood up and slung his wet clothes over his shoulder. "Something that I did notice," he added. "He's fighting the same way that he did before. No flying, no tentacles, no ink. No idea why."
Ranma appeared to consider this for a while and then shrugged. He climbed out of the hot spring and looked up the darkening sky. "I'm done soaking. I'm gonna go start a fire. There's still leftover curry from this morning. That okay for you?"
---
He was alone, but that was as it should be. He couldn't remember how long he had been out here, all alone in the dark. Was it three nights? Five nights? A week? He couldn't remember. It seemed like forever.
He had killed. Or had he? The person had attacked him… the one who used to be this thing… Pantyhose Tarou. He'd attacked first, but then he'd just lain there. Still. Where was Ranma? He couldn't see Ranma. What had Tarou done to Ranma? Ranma should have been there, but he wasn't.
Now he was alone again. And he could only remember.
The curve of her beautiful cheek. Her arms around him, making him feel warm and safe.
Never again. He was alone.
He couldn't remember ever being this hungry. He had eaten, two nights ago, but now it seemed like forever. The ache inside him, gnawing at him, eating away at him. He was feeling dizzy… weakened, and he couldn't think straight.
He had to leave, find something to eat. He couldn't just stay here, his mind curling it on itself, screaming, drowning in its own anguish. He had to leave. Had to keep going.
Alone.
Revision History: Spelling / grammar changes mostly. I reworked the final conversation in the hot spring a little because I thought it was unlikely that Tarou and Ranma would swap their techniques quite so readily. Also, reworked a few scenes to try and make them more emotive.